The Gift
by Lotus4
Summary: Resident EvilEternal Darkness crossover (not a parody). Zombies, monsters, twisted parodies of life. Were they all really the products of a virus? Or is there something more--something otherworldly--at work? Reviews greatly appreciated.
1. Default Chapter

**The Gift**

A Resident Evil/Eternal Darkness crossover by Lotus

Disclaimers: Eternal Darkness and all characters and situations belong to Silicon Knights. Resident Evil and all characters and situations belong to Capcom. I have no claim to either of them. Thank you. Bows

A/N: I'm writing a crossover that's not a parody! Amazing! Anyway, a crossover between Resident Evil and the drastically underappreciated psychological horror game Eternal Darkness. It's populated mostly by RE characters, which is why it's in the RE category. Set somewhere after RE: Dead Aim but before RE4 (so Leon hasn't gone off and had his Spanish adventures yet) Four important notes: 1) This fic assumes that Chris, Jill, Rebecca and Barry all survived RE1, even though that isn't technically possible, and that Billy is still alive. 2) For the sake of simplicity and a manageable cast of characters, some characters will simply not be in the fic. There are currently too many plot threads flapping around loose in the RE series for me to resolve them all and hope to maintain sanity and organization You can be fairly certain, for example, that Ark, Lott and Lily Klein, Bruce, Fong Ling, Lucia, and the cast of Outbreak will not be here, for the simple reason that I haven't played any of the games they're in. 3) I'm ignoring most of Wesker's Report, except for the fact that Sherry is Wesker's prisoner (that's the only part of the Report I'm leaving in). 4) This fic is mostly experimental; that is, I have little idea where it's going plotwise. Whether or not it continues is based on reader response. So, if you like it, review it!

Oh, and please remain seated at all times during the performance and no flash photography! Thank you, and enjoy the show!

* * *

Claire Redfield sang cheerfully along to the radio as she drove down the highway back home. Today had been the best day she'd had in a long time—she'd spent the day shopping and getting her back massaged. It was nice to be able to be able to forget about Umbrella and viruses and Raccoon City for a while.

The American government had recently ordered the complete shutdown of Umbrella Inc. in the wake of the Raccoon City outbreak. Although the company's CEO, Ozwell Spencer, had never been found, Umbrella was gone, permanently out of business. However, other companies were working with bioweapons similar to Umbrella's, and as long as there were others who dealt in monsters, she and her brother's work was not yet done.

But today was her 21st birthday, and Chris had insisted that she go out and enjoy herself. "It's your birthday." He'd said. "Live a little. Just be home by six-ish, so we can go to dinner."

She'd been happy to oblige.

Chris had changed so much after the fall of Umbrella. He wasn't as moody and angry as he'd been before—he hadn't had an outburst since he got home—and he didn't smoke nearly as much as he used to. Claire wasn't sure what had happened, but it seemed as if a weight had been lifted from her brother's shoulders, a weight he'd been carrying all his life.

Then again, over the past few days, he'd seemed more tense and nervous than usual…she shrugged it off as she pulled into her neighborhood.

As soon as she turned onto her street she heard sirens. She found out the reason soon enough; there were two police cars and an ambulance parked outside her townhouse, sirens blaring. She parked the car and hurried out.

"What happened?" She asked an officer standing by her front door. "What's going on?"

"The house's been broken into." He replied. "Neighbors heard gunshots and called 911."

"It was what? Was anyone in the house?" Before the officer could answer, Claire caught sight of the ambulance. Chris lay unconscious on a stretcher, covered with a bloody sheet, being carried into the ambulance.

"Chris?" She ran to her brother's side. There was a long scratch down the side of his face, barely covered by a bandage. "Is he going to be okay? What happened to him?"

"He'll survive, most likely. But as for what happened…we don't know exactly." The policeman shook his head. "He was in the house when the break-in occurred. We found him unconscious on the floor when we came in—scratched up, lost a lot of blood, obvious signs of a struggle." He looked closely at Claire. "Miss, are you Claire?"

"Yeah, I'm his sister."

"Then this might be of interest to you." He tapped another officer on the shoulder, and he handed him a crumpled-up piece of paper. The officer, in turn, gave it to Claire. She opened the paper and saw her brother's handwriting, in a frantic scrawl.

_Claire:_

_You have to get out of here. It's not safe anymore. They've found me, and I won't be able to protect you for long. Don't ask why or who. Just run._

_The Darkness is coming._

"Do you know what this means?" The policeman asked.

"No. No idea." _The Darkness is coming?_ She thought. _What's that?_ "Can I go with him to the hospital?"  
"Sure, miss." The officer nodded. "Get in the ambulance."

* * *

"Would you get up already?"

Albert Wesker grumbled unintelligibly and buried his head in his pillow. This only caused his coworker to shake him harder. "Get _up_. I mean it. Something's bothering Sherry. We need you to talk to her."

"Why me?" He frankly didn't care what Sherry needed. This was the first time he'd had more than an hour of sleep in three weeks and no force on Earth was going to make him get out of bed. "What's wrong with _you_?"

"Tried it. She won't tell us what's bothering her. Get out of bed."

"Go away."

His coworker responded by grabbing the end of his bed and lifting it up, causing Wesker to roll onto the floor in a very undignified manner. "Look, none of us are getting any sleep either. Get up and shut her up." She turned around and left.

Cursing the world and everyone in it under his breath, Wesker got up, put on his bathrobe, and headed for Sherry's room. He hadn't been sleeping much recently, unless you counted dozing off for a half-hour during a board meeting (it wasn't like they had been talking about anything important). True, he'd never needed much sleep, even before his transformation, but for the past few weeks, up till yesterday, he hadn't even been tired.

Sherry's room was at the end of a long hallway, close to the staff bedrooms and far away from any important equipment in case the G-Virus dormant inside her decided to make its presence known. It was kept locked at night, but every employee had a key. Wesker retrieved his own from his pocket and opened the door.

Every light in Sherry' room was blazing, and Sherry herself lay facedown on her bed, crying. "What's the matter, Sherry?" He asked, walking into the room. When she didn't reply, he sighed and leaned on the door. "Sherry, you're keeping everyone awake. What's the problem?"

At this she looked up, saw Wesker, leapt off her bed, and ran over to him. "You—I _know_ you can see him!" She insisted. "I mean, you can, can't you?"

"See _who_, Sherry?"

At this a quiet voice replied from the back of the room.

"Just me…"

Wesker looked up suddenly. The voice was very familiar.

There was indeed someone standing next to Sherry's bed, but that someone was very faint—the bright lights in the room seemed to shine right through him, making him nearly transparent. He stood up, following Sherry, and as he came nearer it became clear just who he was.

"It's been quite a while, hasn't it?" The man said. "I was wondering when I might see you again."

It was a long moment before Wesker was able to speak. When he finally found his voce, he could only manage a single word.

"Will?"

**End Chapter 1**

Like? Don't like? What to know what happens next? Leave me a review and let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Gift**

An Eternal Darkness/Resident Evil crossover 

A/N: Well, I got a couple of reviews saying I should continue, so here I go, poking out into the world with Chapter 2. poke poke Hello? Anyone there? Me again…Bear in mind that I have no set plan for this fic, so forgive the plot disjointedness. Oh, and in response to a few readers' queries: 1) No, none of the original characters from the S.D. Perry novels will be in this fic, as I haven't read them. 2) No one from the movies will be here either, on the grounds that the movies exist in their own little sub-continuity and are in no way relevant to the games.

Onward!

* * *

_The Darkness is coming._

Claire read the note over and over again, trying to glean some additional meaning from it. Who had found Chris? What was the Darkness? Why wouldn't she be safe with him anymore?

But as much as she read it, the brief scribbled message had no answers.

Chris hadn't woken during the ambulance ride—hadn't even stirred. The doctors had insisted that she stay in the waiting room while they tended to Chris as best they could.

So, for the past half-hour, she'd been staring at the note, wondering.

_The Darkness is coming._ Did it have some hidden meaning? Was there some clue that she was supposed to find? It didn't seem likely; she could tell from the handwriting on the note that Chris had written it in a panic. He probably didn't have the time to leave any secret messages.

Even if that was the case, there had to be something he had wanted to tell her. After all, did he really think she'd run away after something like this happened to him? She'd never do that, and Chris knew it.

It suddenly occurred to her that although the note didn't mean anything to her, there were two people who knew Chris as well or better than she did: Barry Burton and Jill Valentine. Maybe they knew something she didn't.

She pulled out her cell-phone and was about to dial Barry's number, but a stern look from the receptionist made her step outside the waiting room before she made the call.

Barry's phone rang five times before someone finally picked up. Unfortunately, that 'someone' turned out to be the answering machine.

"Hi! You've reached the Burton family household." Claire sighed as Mrs. Burton's cheerful voice played the prerecorded message. "We're not available right now, so please leave your name and number after the beep and we'll call you back as soon as we can. Have a great day!"

_A little too late for that,_ Claire thought as the message ended. "Hi, Barry? This is Claire—you know, Chris' sister? Listen, someone broke into our house while Chris was in it, and he…got hurt. He's in the hospital right now. Please call me back, I really need to talk to you about this." She hung up, then tried Jill's number. She hoped Jill was home, as the ex-S.T.A.R.S. was notorious for never checking her messages.

Thankfully, Jill picked up after two rings. "Hello?"

"Jill? It's Claire."

"Claire Redfield? How've you been?" There was a smile in her voice. "I haven't talked to you in forever! You never call me, you know."

"I know, I know. Jill, I'd love to catch up with you, but this is serious."

"What happened?"

"Someone broke into our house while Chris was in it."

She heard Jill gasp. "Is he okay?"

"No. Whoever it was hurt him really badly. He's in the hospital right now. The doctors said he'll live, but he's not in very good condition."

"My God…Claire, when did this happen?"

"Just this evening. There's something else, too. Before the break-in, Chris left me this note. The police say they found it near him."

"What does it say?"

Claire read the note to Jill. "Does that mean anything to you? I don't understand it."

"No. It doesn't make any sense to me either. Look, what do you say I come over there so we can talk about this?"

"Yeah, could you? We're at the Cary Central Hospital, the one right off the highway. Call me back when you get here, okay?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can." The line went dead. Claire pocketed her phone and stepped back into the waiting room just in time for a nurse to walk in.

"Miss Redfield?"

"Yeah?"

"You can visit your brother now, if you'd like."

* * *

Chris was still unconscious, although from the sound of the ECG his heartbeat was steady. He was covered in bandages and hooked up to an IV.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" Claire asked the nurse standing by his bed.

"We don't know." She replied, checking her clipboard. "His condition's stable, but there's no telling when he'll come out of the coma." She caught sight of Claire's face and smiled. "Cheer up. Once he does wake up, he'll be fine. And I don't think it'll take longer than a few weeks for that to happen."

"If you say so." Claire didn't smile back. If only the nurse knew what a long time a few weeks could be.

She sat there at her brother's side for a long while, watching him, wishing he'd wake up. Even if Chris was okay, she thought, that didn't really help. It had been years since Raccoon City, years since she'd been separated. They'd been so close to being a normal brother and sister—to being just two people, and now this happened. Why? Why did this kind of thing always happen? Was Chris not allowed to have a normal life?

She didn't realize that she had started to cry until the same nurse offered her a box of tissues.

"Thank you." She took a tissue. "Sorry about that."

"You've got nothing to be sorry about." The nurse insisted. "I think you should probably go home now and get some sleep. I promise, we'll take very good care of him."

Behind them, a window shattered. Claire whirled around to see what had happened and saw—

She gasped, and her eyes opened wide. She wasn't entirely sure what it was she was seeing, but even after Raccoon City, the thing that was standing in a carpet of broken glass didn't seem possible. It was huge and misshapen and stared at her through far too many eyes—

Through far too many _heads_. The thing had three.

Behind her, the nurse screamed. Claire ignored her, by turns staring at the thing and searching for some means of defense. Her mind raced as she scanned the room. A scalpel? Too small. The IV stand? She couldn't use it without ripping out Chris' IV…

The creature let out a horrible sound and began plodding toward Chris' bed. Frantic, Claire picked up the chair she had been sitting in and hit the monster as hard as she could.

The monster flinched, but quickly recovered, swinging at Claire with a huge claw. Claire danced out of the way just in time to avoid it, and it continued walking toward Chris. Claire, in response, grabbed the dented chair and rammed it legs-first into the monster's back.

It screamed, turned around, and swung for Claire again. This time she couldn't get out of its way. The force of the blow threw her back against a wall, knocking over a tray of bandages and gauze. She curled up, clutching at her stomach where the claws sliced through her flesh. When she finally looked up again, the thing was still making its way toward Chris; it was within a few steps of the hospital bed.

Thinking fast, Claire dove for the bed, pushing Chris off just as the thing swung at him. Under the bandages his cuts were freshly bleeding from the sudden movement, but it was better than the alternative.

The thing pulled its claws out of the bed, ripping up the sheets and mattresses, and roared at Claire. She looked up at it, trying to figure out what to do next. It was too close; the next time it swung, it would hit either her or Chris, and there wasn't enough time to get out of the way…

Three gunshots rang from the other side of the room, and the creature reared back, screeching in pain. Someone must have called the police, Claire thought, or maybe they were security guards. Whoever they were, two uniformed men with handguns were shooting at the creature's face, and that had stopped it in its tracks. They both emptied their clips into it before it finally collapsed on the floor.

Claire looked over her brother. He was still breathing, and his pulse was still regular. She sighed with relief, then winced at the pain in her stomach.

"Somebody get a doctor in here." She heard one of them shout. She tried to get to her feet, but lightheadedness overtook her, and she decided against it.

A crew of doctors and nurses slowly inched their way into the room, looking uneasily at the corpse of the creature.

Eventually, two of them approached Claire and helped her onto a stretcher—taking her to her own hospital bed, she assumed. As they carried her off, she looked back at her brother, who was being lifted back into his own bed.

_Please get here soon, Jill._ Claire thought. _I can't leave him alone…

* * *

_

"See? I knew it." Sherry sat back down. "I knew you could see him. Everyone else told me it was just my imagination."

Wesker shook his head. Shock had given way to disbelief. "This isn't possible." He said at last.

"I'm afraid it is." The figure was still very quiet, although he seemed more visible now. "And believe me, I wish I didn't have to tell you that. I know you don't want to believe it, that everything you've always known tells you that this shouldn't be happening. But it is." He walked over to the light switch. "It was hard for me to accept too, at first."

He flipped off the lights, and in the dimmer light of the bedside lamp it became clear that the man was indeed William Birkin.

At least, it looked like him. Mostly. Except that his skin and hair and clothing were all in shades of blue. And he was translucent. And his eyes were empty holes.

"It isn't possible." Wesker repeated. "You're dead. You've been dead for years. You can't--"

"I _am_ dead, Albert." Birkin cut him off. "I'm a ghost. A spirit. That's why I look like this."

"Ghosts don't exist." He protested.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Birkin shrugged.

Wesker closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his forehead, willing it all to make sense. "Then you're not real." He concluded. "You're some dream or hallucination. I'll wake up in my own bed in a few hours—or in the infirmary bed, I suppose, if I've become this delusional."

"You are not dreaming." Birkin said firmly. "And, after all, is it really so hard to believe? You spent your whole career bringing the dead back to life. Look at what happened to _you_."

"We worked with viruses, mutagens, parasites, Will—things that are entirely real. Not 'ghosts'."

Birkin hesitated a moment. In retrospect, he should've seen this coming. Had he honestly expected Wesker to relinquish his death-grip on logic just because he had told him to? "What do I have to do, Albert? What can I say to make you believe me?"

"There's nothing. I don't believe you. This isn't real. It can't be." But something was different. He didn't sound quite as sure as he did before.

"You can keep telling yourself that. It's not going to make this any less real." Birkin walked up to Wesker and, with no warning, threw a punch at his head.

It went straight through him.

"You're about to tell me," Birkin continued speaking, although Wesker could barely listen through what felt like a terminal case of brainfreeze, "that even in dreams or delusions, a person can experience physical sensations such as pain. Correct?"

Wesker nodded, an action he quickly regretted as the numbing cold lanced through his head.

"But I am going to reply that the mind can only duplicate a physical sensation that it has previously experienced. I don't believe that this has ever happened to you before, Albert."

"No, Will, it hasn't, you've made your point." He replied. "Now would you stop?"

Birkin obliged, pulling his fist away, and Wesker put a hand to his forehead. "I," he announced, regaining his composure, "am going to have a bitch of a migraine in the morning. Thanks, Will."

"No trouble. Convinced yet?"

Wesker avoided the question. "Why are you here?"

Birkin smiled, evidently satisfied with his answer. "I'm here because there's something very important that I think you should know about, something of rather pressing concern. And I needed to talk to you, specifically, because I knew you were the most likely to believe—there's that word again—what I was going to say."

"I was--"

"Yes. If I was about to say something impossible, I'd prefer to say it to someone who knew who I was and was confident that I was not a raving lunatic while I was living. Make sense?"

"As much sense as anything else tonight." Wesker grumbled, mostly to himself. "So you expected me to believe that ghosts exist just because I knew you?"

"The existence of ghosts," Birkin continued, "was not the 'something impossible' I needed to tell you."

There was a moment of silence.

"What was it, then?" Wesker asked, very quietly.

Birkin smiled in response. "I needed to tell you, Albert," he said, staring at him with empty eyes, "that there are worlds beyond our own."

**End Chapter 2**

Yay, at last I update! Review if you like it! Please.


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